


Two Minutes

by GooberFeesh



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Life in St. Petersburg, M/M, Post-Series, Sickfic, Victor is a sad blanket burrito, and Yuuri is a fretful waifu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9229319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberFeesh/pseuds/GooberFeesh
Summary: Even though Yuuri knew it was just a cold and that it could have been much, much worse, it didn’t really eliminate the feeling of dread when Viktor awoke two mornings ago to a sore throat, stuffy nose, and tight chest.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iceprinceofbelair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceprinceofbelair/gifts).



> Originally written as a Secret Santa back in December for the lovely EJwhiskers. I'm a shameless glutton for sickfics and can't get enough tbh. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It wasn’t how he saw himself spending the holidays (or Viktor's birthday), Yuuri thought, bustling around the huge kitchen in an attempt to make sure he had everything ready for when he was finished cooking. He had to politely nudge Makkachin out of the way, seeing as the poodle was blocking off the cabinet he needed to get into. Once Makkachin did move Yuuri offered a gentle ‘Spasibo’ and dug around to retrieve a storage container.  
  
He’d done well as far as [mostly] learning where everything was (though he still felt as though the kitchen belonged in some five-star restaurant rather than an upscale apartment in the heart of St. Petersburg) and was proud that his effort had rewarded him with a sense of familiarity. No more embarrassing questions where he could find a spoon, or a napkin, or even - in one particular case - the salt and pepper.  
  
A big pot of shchi simmered on the stove, nearly finished in its production save for a few more stirs that Yuuri now offered. The waves of steam wafting from the surface of the broth fogged up his glasses, though instead of removing them altogether so he could at least see at close range what he was doing, Yuuri instead shoved the frames up to sit on top of his head while he completed the final step.  
  
From the bedroom, he heard a series of chesty coughs that had him pausing and casting a concerned look over his shoulder. Even though he knew it was just a cold and that it could have been much, much worse, it didn’t really eliminate the feeling of dread when Viktor awoke two mornings ago to a sore throat, stuffy nose, and tight chest. In spite of Viktor's reassurances and desire to carry through with their holiday plans as if nothing had happened, Yuuri insisted that they take it easy and wait until Viktor felt better to do anything.  
  
But Viktor, ever the bouncing ball of positive energy, had dragged them through the city and thus exposed himself to the frosty wind. Needless to say the following day had consisted of Viktor laying in bed, battling the same fever he was presently experiencing.  
  
If they were lucky the worst of it would end the following day, and then Viktor could spend the last week of December getting back on his feet. Though judging how he’d been awake half the night coughing, and how he couldn’t seem to draw much air through his blocked nose…Yuuri wasn’t very hopeful that Viktor would kick the virus any time soon.  
  
But that's how it was for someone who hadn’t been sick all year, wasn’t it? When they did manage to come down with something, it made up for all the times they didn’t. It was a cruel reality that Yuuri could genuinely say he didn’t much appreciate.  
  
Shutting off the stove (and successfully not burning himself in the process this time) he left the soup for a moment and went to collect a bowl and ladle. He found each in their respective places - though the ladle took a minute - and once they were within his possession he returned to the stove. He had just worked a good scoop into the ladle when the shuffling sound of footsteps along hardwood captured his attention.  
  
Temporarily abandoning his task, Yuuri turned around and squinted out the blurry figure of the five-time gold medalist and figure skating champion, who also happened to be his fiancé, Viktor Nikiforov, standing in the kitchen and looking as if he’d just tumbled out of a dryer.  
  
The silky strands of his platinum hair sat messily on his head in curled little tendrils, and while the overhang of Viktor’s fringe concealed his left eye as always, Yuuri could see a sliver of blue peeking out from between disheveled slants in the forelock. A thick blanket was wrapped around him, concealing a long-sleeved ‘I <3 Squid’ t-shirt he’d gotten during his time in Hasetsu, as well as most of his black yoga bottoms. His feet were covered by ice skating penguin socks that he’d been gifted by a fan early in his career and didn’t have the heart to toss, even years later.  
  
“ _Viktor_ ,” Yuuri said, the name almost a whine. “I told you to stay in bed.” It was like asking a little kid to stay in bed when all they wanted to do was sneak away and play with their toys.  
  
Viktor sniffled and shuffled a little closer. “I was lonely,” he admitted, the smooth velvet of his voice replaced by something scratchy, hoarse, and distinctly congested. “Even Makkachin left me.”  
  
The dog in question was sat at Yuuri’s feet, as if solidifying his betrayal to his owner. Yuuri offered Makkachin a distracted scratch behind his floppy ears, even though his attention remained on Viktor. “I won’t be much longer. I promise.”  
  
Viktor sniffled again and reached up to saw a slender finger below his red nose. The gesture was so painfully childlike that for a second Yuuri wondered if Viktor was really on the edge of twenty-seven and not just seven. “Is it almost ready?”  
  
“It _is_ ready,” Yuuri corrected. “I just need to pour it in a bowl and that’s it.”  
  
In spite of the feverish and cold-ridden misery that Viktor was projecting, a smile upturned his pale lips. “My Yuuri takes such good care of me~”  
  
_Someone has to_ , Yuuri thought privately, though not with malice. Taking care of Viktor wasn’t an easy task by any means, and something told him that if they hadn’t moved in together and continued living in separate countries, Viktor would have easily ignored his symptoms and possibly worsened his cold into pneumonia. Yuuri felt a cold pang of anxiety start up at the thought, so he abandoned it, took a small breath, and reiterated his former statement.  
  
“Go back to bed, okay? I’ll be right there.”  
  
The smile on Viktor's face slowly faded, but Yuuri could see that it wasn’t because he wanted to stay in the kitchen that badly, or that he was wounded by Yuuri’s insistence that he leave. No, Yuuri quickly realized that Viktor’s slackening expression meant that he was going to…  
  
The forceful, vocal sneeze was caught in a corner of the blanket Viktor hastily utilized. It wasn’t exactly sanitary, but it was better than using his bare hands, Yuuri knew. Especially with Viktor’s sneezes coming as frequently as they did.  
  
Even though Yuuri knew that Viktor wasn’t finished - Viktor could never, _ever_ sneeze just once - he still said: “Bless you.”  
  
Viktor would have thanked him, but he was too busy dipping into a second and third sneeze that had him caving into the blanket a little more each time. Yuuri had retrieved a tissue box from the living room and brought it over by the time Viktor straightened out, sniffling damply. “Bless you twice. Well, three times technically but twice in a row just now.”  
  
One of Viktor’s hands slithered out from between the folds of the blanket and took the tissue box gratefully; he tucked it under his arm, but only after snatching three of the soft sheets and pressing them against his nose. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Yuuri said, and then frowned. “But please, go back to bed? You really don't look or sound well.”  
  
Viktor sighed and then coughed when the turbulent stream of air caught in his lungs. He kept the tissues pressed against his lips as the spasms came and went, and even once he was cough and sneeze free (for the time being, anyway) he still kept the white barrier settled over his mouth.  
  
Yuuri had moved closer to rub Viktor’s back through the coughing, but when he saw that Viktor was alright he kissed Viktor's cheek and returned to the stove.  
  
“Two minutes,” the younger man promised, finally ladling the soup. Of course, he didn’t factor in that he’d misplace his glasses once the meal was officially plated, so he hastily looked at Viktor, who hadn’t yet walked off, and amended: “Okay, maybe five minutes. I have to find my glasses first.”  
  
Ugh, where did he even _put them_? Losing his glasses in the large apartment was always a wild ride, because it took absolutely forever to fin—  
  
“Yuuri.”  
  
Yuuri looked over upon hearing his name and watched as Viktor, the corner of his eyes crinkled in fond amusement, tapped his fingertip along the top of his silvery head. Yuuri mimicked the gesture and found his glasses exactly where he’d forgotten he’d put them: On top of his head.  
  
His cheeks grew hot in a blush he tried to play off by clearing his throat and settling the frames back on his nose. “Two minutes," he confirmed.  
  
Viktor's previous smile returned as he finally went back to the bedroom to await his adorable partner.


End file.
